


west coast

by justbreathe80



Series: Trans-Canada Series [3]
Category: Canadian Actor RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-15
Updated: 2009-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-04 10:59:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbreathe80/pseuds/justbreathe80
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They take the Trans Canada through Burnaby and into the city, and, god, welcome to fucking Vancouver, the home of every Canadian actor and American teenybopper show. Third installment of the trans-Canada series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	west coast

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the rps_advent challenge.
> 
> This is the third installment in a series, following northbound, southbound and east on the 401.
> 
> Many, many thanks to my darling fandom wife, strangecobwebs, for being a part of this and the whole series. You are AWESOME, my darling!

Hugh watches the city coming up through the right-hand side window of the bus, the sun setting over the water and the city lights starting to come up. They take the Trans Canada through Burnaby and into the city, and, god, welcome to fucking Vancouver, the home of every Canadian actor and American teenybopper show. He actually likes Vancouver, which is a fucking shock, but he's east coast at heart.

Vancouver did have some things going for it though.

Hugh pulls out his phone and flips it open, dialing the number by heart.

"Calling your fucking girlfriend, Dillon?" Trent calls out from the front of the bus, and Hugh flips him off and mouths, "Fuck you, asshole."

Then, "Hello?"

Hugh smiles to himself, feeling the warmth pool in his belly at the sound of Callum's voice. They haven't seen each other in forever, almost a year now. Just some phone calls here and there, most of which ended with Hugh's hand on his cock, feeling like a total fucking idiot, but just Callum's voice got him all worked up. Must have been those hours in the back of the bus on the tour, doing nothing but talking and pretending that they weren't fucking seconds away from fucking.

"Hey, baby, what are you wearing?" Hugh says softly into the phone, pitching his voice high and breathy.

"Who the fuck is this?" Callum answers, sounding almost bored. It just makes Hugh smile more, before he flips the phone shut and tucks it back into his pocket. It's so fucking fun to mess with him, and now Hugh knows that Callum is home, in his apartment. He swallows down the excitement that he can feel, that he'd deny if anyone called him on it.

A year is a long fucking time. Hugh cups his hands around near his mouth and lights his cigarette.

*****

Hugh takes off from his hotel room not too long after they get there, grabbing a cab and giving him Callum's address. The cabbie is cool and lets Hugh smoke, even though he'll probably be in deep shit for it, but he probably notices how Hugh's hands are shaking a little bit. Figures he needs it.

Callum's got a townhouse thing in a decent neighborhood; it’s nothing like Hugh's place in Toronto, which is decent but still very fucking rock star. Callum's place, as he reminds Callum on a pretty regular basis because he likes pissing him off. Insulting his street cred, if fucking actors have street cred.

He takes a long drag on his cigarette, shifting from foot to foot as he raises his arm to knock on the door. The door swings open, and Callum in standing there, jeans low on his hips, shirt open at the neck enough to make Hugh's heart beat a little faster. He has a cigarette hanging from his lips, and he's smiling, just a little.

"Hey, baby," Hugh says, just like he did on the phone before, and Callum laughs.

"Well, well, look what the fucking cat dragged in. My obscene caller."

"You gonna ask me in, asshole, or are you gonna make me wait outside in your shitty weather all night?"

Callum steps aside, and Hugh pushes past him, taking in his red leather sofa and his fucking painting on the wall. He kind of digs that Callum's an _artist_, that he paints and shit and takes his acting so damn seriously.

"So, Dillon, what brings you to town?" Callum's right up in his space, his lips inches away, and Hugh's trying to keep his fucking breathing steady, trying not to lose his cool. He grins at Callum and takes a deep breath of the smoke Callum blows out into the room.

"You."

"Aw, how sweet," Callum drawls.

Hugh's had enough already, and he knows it's pathetic, but he grabs Callum's cigarette from his lips and stubs it out in the ashtray on the end table. Callum's smiling, just a little, as Hugh pushes him toward the couch and bends him over it, face first.

"God, look at you," Hugh says, running his hands up Callum's back underneath his shirt, pushing it up so he can see his skin.

"Hugh -" Callum moans, already pushing back with his hips, already totally with the fucking program, which is one of those things Hugh loves about him.

He can stay there forever, but his dick is hard and pushing into Callum's ass through his jeans, and there'll be time later for looking and touching and just being, because he wants inside of Callum, more than anything. He reaches around to start undoing Callum's pants, pushing them and his boxers down over his hips. He lets his fingers trace the curve of Callum's ass, which is so fucking fine, before he spreads him apart with one hand and rubs his fingertips over his hole.

"Fuck," Callum breathes out, breathing hard and pushing back, but Hugh's got a plan, he doesn't fucking need Callum's help. He lets go of Callum and reaches in the pocket of his jacket before pushing it off, resting the condom and the lube on the top of the couch. He slicks up two of his fingers and pushes them into Callum's ass.

Callum moans, and Hugh laughs. "That's it, baby, give it up," he says, pushing harder and making Callum open up, gasping and swallowing hard and trying to let him in. Hugh realizes that there's no way Callum's getting fucked on a regular basis by anyone else, and that makes him flush, because he doesn't want anyone else here, like this.

He tucks a third finger in and Callum's pushing back now, getting a rhythm going and getting loose, and, yeah, god, that's it, so fucking good like this. Callum's open and still tight, and he's trying to get his feet underneath him but Hugh's got him pinned down with one hand square to the center of his back, bent over, his pants around his knees.

"You are so fucking hot," Hugh whispers as he pulls his fingers out and wipes them on the back of Callum's shirt. "You miss me?"

"No fucking way," Callum says, but his voice is shaking, and Hugh can hear the truth there, how much Callum wants it.

Hugh doesn't say anything else, just gets his own pants open and pulls his dick out, smoothing the condom down and lubing up. He could come just like that, just looking at Callum bent over and open for him, but he _needs_ to fuck him.

He lines his cock up with Callum's hole and pushes, gently but steadily, and Callum's practically sobbing into the leather of the couch, and Hugh's got him, his hands gripping Callum's hips, his fingertips pressing into his pale skin. "Come on, breathe, you fucker. Let me in." Callum catches his breath and goes quiet, and then he's relaxing and Hugh is slipping further in until his hips are pressed tightly against Callum's ass. Fuck. He's so tight, and so good, and Hugh could stay here, just like this, fucking him forever.

Just a few minutes, just like that, and Callum is starting to get into it, pushing back and trying to get Hugh to move. "Fuck me, you bastard, come on, fuck," Callum is chanting, and Hugh pulls back and fucks back in, hard. The sounds die in Callum's throat, and start back up again as Hugh pulls out, impossibly slow, then slams back in again, quiet.

It's hard, and it's almost killing him to go this slow, and finally, he breaks, reaching up one of his hands to thread through Callum's too-short hair and pull his head back, holding on and fucking him good now, fucking him hard and fast. Callum's sounds fade from words to grunts and moans, and Hugh wants to stay like this forever, Callum underneath him, but it's too much, too fucking much.

Callum cries out, and fuck, wow, Callum comes without Hugh even touching his dick, all over the back of the red couch, going limp and loose and making it easier for Hugh to fuck faster and harder. He lets go of Callum's hair so he doesn't leave a bald spot, right before he comes, fucking into Callum's ass and feeling like his head's exploding, feeling better than he does when he's just come off the stage from singing until he can't fucking _breathe_ in front of a thousand people.

Hugh collapses down on Callum's back, because fuck, he's supposed to play it cool, but he's mouthing along the back of Callum's neck and his ear and trying not to tell him that there's no fuck on earth as good as this as far as he can tell, so he settles for running his tongue along Callum's earlobe to feel him shudder around Hugh's dick.

Finally, and it's really a fucking tragedy, he has to pull out, and they both rather gracelessly slump down on the floor, bare asses on the hardwood, which is fucking freezing. Callum's head is against the back of the couch, and he's trying to catch his breath, and Hugh wants to watch him forever, and figures he will as long as Callum's eyes are closed.

"Jesus Christ, Dillon, that was -" Callum says, and stops like he doesn't even know what to say. Hugh laughs and starts tugging up his pants over his dick.

"Yeah, yeah. I knew you missed me, you cunt." Callum's eyes are open and he's getting himself tucked away and situated, but his hands are still shaking, so Hugh fumbles around for his jacket and pulls out two cigarettes. He lights the first one and hands it to Callum, who takes a deep drag off of it like it's the only thing keeping him from _dying_.

"Fuck you," Callum says weakly, and Hugh lights his own cigarette before pulling Callum close with his free arm over Callum's shoulder.

"I thought that was my line."

They stay like that for a few minutes, smoking in silence, and it's almost as if fucking was like talking for them, because Hugh can vaguely remember wanting to tell Callum how much these months had sucked, with the tour and Callum's schedule and not being able to meet up anywhere was fucking killing him, and he hadn't wanted to tell Callum he was coming to Vancouver, because it almost seemed to good to be true.

But he's here, and it's too fucking good. It's always too fucking good to be true.

"You got a show?" Callum says after he lights up cigarette number two, rolling his head against the red leather to look right in Hugh's eyes. It's intense, and Hugh focuses on the wall across the room, on Callum's painting up there.

"Yeah, tomorrow night. Wanna come? I'll put you on the list."

"Sounds good." Callum takes a deep breath and heaves himself to his feet. "C'mon. The floor is fucking killing me." Hugh lets Callum pull him up to his feet, and follows him to the bedroom.

*****

Hugh wakes up the next morning with Callum leaning over him, telling Hugh that he's got a stupid fucking shoot to go to - some bit part in an American TV series - and Hugh grunts and reaches up, kissing Callum quick and hard on the lips.

"Okay, bye," he says, "I'll let myself out."

Callum gets up and walks toward the door. "See you at the show," he says, shutting the bedroom door behind him. Hugh gives it up and gets three more hours of fucking amazing sleep, which has not one damn thing to do with the sheets smelling like Callum, like Hugh, like _them_.

When he wakes up, he takes a shower in Callum's really clean bathroom, gets dressed in his own dirty clothes, and heads back to the hotel. He walks part of the way before catching a cab, squinting against the sunlight which just seems out of fucking place out here.

His hotel room is drab and boring and just looking at it makes Hugh want to get high just to keep from having to look at it too much, to make the colors look interesting. Instead, he gets dressed, because he doesn't want to think too much about _that_ either, and he's got a show in a few hours.

He checks his pockets before he leaves; he's got his cigarettes and his lighter, and the small, cut metal of the key beneath them.

*****

It's a fucking great show, just like he expects, just like it always is in Vancouver. East coast, west coast, who gives a shit. They fucking love Hugh and the band, and the crowd is drunk and stupid and Hugh is egging them on, and it's great. It's just like he wishes every single show would be, feeding off the energy of the crowd and fucking with them and having a great time.

He tries not to look too hard for Callum, doing his whole slouching-with-cigarette routine up against a wall somewhere. He tries to stay focused on the crowd, tries to find a girl he might go home with, or more likely jerk off to later. Because he's totally okay with Callum not being there.

Still, he's annoyed as hell by the time he half-stumbles off stage, and he pushes past Trent and Dale and stalks off to the back hallway of the club. He pulls out a cigarette and starts to pat his pockets for his lighter when a hand comes up in front of his face.

"Hey."

Callum's got his lighter out, the flame in front of Hugh's face, and Hugh dips the end of the cigarette in and watches it glow as he inhales. Callum takes the lighter back and pockets it, smiling a little.

"Great show," Callum says, keeping his hands in his pockets and standing just a little too close. Hugh can smell the smoke and the city, and he takes a deep breath and leans back against the wall.

"Yeah."

"I got here a little late, and then stood behind some stupid fucking six-foot tall guy." Callum taps out his own cigarette and lights it. It's like Callum knows that Hugh's freaking out, and is trying to make it all right.

Hugh doesn't know what to say, and Callum's moving closer, pressing his palm to the wall beside Hugh's head. The blood rushes from Hugh's brain to his dick, and he can't focus on anything but the way Callum's tongue comes out to run across his bottom lip.

"So, you want -" Callum starts, and Hugh reaches over to pull him in.

"Yeah, I want." And then they're kissing, slick and perfect and god, he wishes he remembered this in his rush to fuck Callum through the back of the couch the night before, because this is good, this is everything. He loves this as much as he loves the fucking, which probably sounds like such a fucking chick thing to say, but it's true. Because Callum kisses like he acts, like he studied Hugh and his lips and his teeth and his tongue before he got here, and he's just putting himself in the zone now, getting into the role.

When Callum pulls away, Hugh remembers where they are, that anyone could have found them, and he's dropping cigarette to the floor and grinding it out with the heel of his boot as he drags Callum toward the back door.

The door opens onto the alley, and there's just a little bit of light and they can hear the sounds of the crowd streaming out of the front door of the club. When Hugh's back hits the wall, he turns his head and sees flashes of people walking past. Shit.

Callum's pressed against him, his dick hard against Hugh's thigh. "God, Dillon, hurry up," he whispers, and Hugh knows suddenly what he wants, and he spins them around. Callum makes a startled noise as Hugh slams him back against the wall, and Hugh's dropping to his knees and mouthing Callum's dick through his pants. Callum's fingers are in his hair, and it hurts and it feels fucking amazing, and he knows that this is stupid. That their careers are fucked if someone decides to take a detour into the alley, but he can't stop now.

"Shut the fuck up," Hugh says softly, and unbuttons Callum's jeans, drags down the zipper, and pulls out his cock, which is hard and already leaking. He licks the head, tasting him, and Callum hisses, tightens his fingers.

Hugh wishes there was time, time to enjoy this and get into it, a clean place to kneel and all that, but he's got to make it quick, so he takes Callum into his mouth and swallows him, his jaw stretched and Callum hitting the back of Hugh's throat.

"God, you look so fucking good," Callum says softly, almost petting Hugh's head as he works Callum, Callum moving his hips just enough to move his cock over Hugh's lips, the head of his cock bumping against the roof of Hugh's mouth. He hums around Callum, and, god, he fucking loves this, just like this, dirty on his knees in this alley and getting Callum off.

Callum seems content to take his time, fuck Hugh's mouth slowly, but they don't have all the time in the world, so Hugh sucks hard and Callum groans and then they're moving, Callum cupping his head and thrusting, and Hugh's pressing his palm against his dick in his own pants and letting his throat open, letting Callum in.

He fucking loves this.

"Fuck," Callum breathes out, and his come hits the back of Hugh's throat, spurting over and over and Hugh's trying to swallow, trying to take it, be cool about it, but he has to pull off and wipe the back of his hand over his mouth because he couldn't take it all. He sits back on his heels, taking deep breaths and trying to calm himself down, because this isn't the time or the place for him to fuck Callum through the wall, and this isn't about Hugh.

Callum's slumped back against the wall, flailing his hands helplessly at his pants, and Hugh takes fucking pity on him because it's pretty pathetic. He drags himself up to his feet, brushing off his knees and leaning in to press his lips to Callum's neck.

"How was it for you?" he whispers as he makes Callum decent (yeah, right) again. Callum reaches up with his now-partially-functioning hand to cuff Hugh on the side of the head.

"Cunt," Callum says, and Hugh knows as he presses his lips to Callum's and pushes the taste of Callum into his mouth that that's as close to some kind of fucking melodramatic confession of love that he's ever going to get. And he'll take it.

They stay there, kissing lazily and draped against the wall, for a little while, until Hugh reluctantly pulls away. "Shit. I have to -"

"You leaving tonight?" Callum says, reaching into his pocket for his cigarettes. He lights one and looks at Hugh, asking something with his eyes that Hugh doesn't want to figure out.

"Yeah, heading back east. Got a show in fucking Calgary in two days." He pushes his hand into his own pocket, and pulls out a cigarette and a lighter and the key beneath them.

"God, I hate Calgary."

"Yeah, shitty excuse for a city. You got anything going on?" Hugh hates this part, this part where they talk like this doesn't suck, like they don't wish that things were different. Hugh hates pretending that he doesn't care that it could be months before they see each other again, months before he gets Callum stripped down underneath his hands.

"I have an early shoot tomorrow. I should probably take off." Callum gestures at the opening of the alley.

Hugh puts a cigarette between his lips and lights it, putting the lighter and the pack away, but keeping the key pressed in his sweaty hand. It's time to shit or get off the pot, and he's not too chicken to do this.

"Listen, before you go...I wanted to give you something." Hugh looks down at his boots and kicks a plastic bag that drifted between them.

"You get me a present, Dillon? You shouldn't have." Callum's smiling, and Hugh takes a deep breath and opens his hand, the key shiny in the dull streetlight.

Callum reaches out and runs his fingertips around the edges, tracing the lines on Hugh's palm. He looks at Hugh, like he wants to ask a million fucking questions.

"Don't get too excited, okay? I'm not asking you to be my fucking domestic partner or anything, it's just - it's a key to my apartment. In Toronto. I thought if you were ever in town and needed a place to crash, you could stay there." God, this is so fucking stupid. It might as well be a marriage proposal.

Callum gently picked the key up and held it, before slipping it into the pocket of his pants and taking another drag on his cigarette. "Don't worry, I wouldn't live with you anyway. You're a fucking slob."

"Shut up, asshole," Hugh shoots back, and it's like everything's okay now, the weird, stupid moment has passed and they're _them_ again, and Callum's grinning. Hugh finds himself smiling back.

"Okay, I'm gonna go," Callum says, checking the button on his pants. He drags Hugh forward in a quick, tight hug, and Hugh resists the urge to hold on. Not let go.

Then, Callum is gone, down the alley and disappearing into the crowd, and Hugh stays there, against the wall, smoking and letting the time pass before going back inside to shoot the shit with Trent until it's time to get back on the bus and start it all over again.


End file.
